


The Cutting Edge (of Science)

by DoubleDog



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Dick Jokes, Hand porn, M/M, bastardization of the scientific method, bloodkink, don't look at my boner when we fight, flagrant hatred of books, the goddamn Belmont Hold, what up I'm Trevor I'm 19 and I never fucking learned how to read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 19:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19471108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleDog/pseuds/DoubleDog
Summary: Trevor has an idea. Specifically, he has a theory.The theory is Alucard is a big liar.The theory is that, despite how the dhampir insists otherwise, Alucard is just as keen on blood as that side of his family tree. So. Someone has to figure it out. Someone has to test him. Might as well be Trevor. For science.





	The Cutting Edge (of Science)

**Author's Note:**

> May I offer you a slutty oneshot in these trying times?

It doesn’t start off as something intentional.

It starts off as most things do— Trevor, being completely fed up of the dim stacks and the musty books they keep pulling from them, is increasingly careless.

Not that he ever is careful, or by his account caring, but he isn’t necessarily _careless..._ most of the time.

* * *

“But I can’t even read this shit,” Trevor protests vehemently, flapping a roll of parchment around.

Sypha jabs her finger so far into his personal space that, for a moment, Trevor imagines her blasting a new hole in his head. She’s likely been fantasizing of the same thing, going by the look of fury on her face.

“I do not care,” she accuses heatedly, “You have eyes, Trevor. The least you could do is be _helpful_.”

“I am helpful!”

“Interesting theory,” Alucard drawls from his spot in a corner. “Care to explain how this will help us locate and then besiege my father’s castle?”

“It’s—it might end up being useful!” Trevor is largely undermined by his own unstoppable laughter.

The small collection of mummified dicks sits ominously on the table in front of them all, silent in their condemnation. Why his family even has an annex of preserved genitals is lost on Trevor, but they had been organized by both size _and_ girth which is very, very funny. The looks on his companion’s faces upon his reveal had been even funnier, having started with confusion before cycling through to disbelief, and finally, disgust. 

Sypha swears and moves to sweep Trevor’s assortment of mummied dicks off the table before Trevor stops her hand.

“Hey hey, those are family heirlooms,” Trevor warns, still laughing. Sypha snatches her hand back but then redirects her gaze to Trevor’s pants.

“Then, I am thinking that you wish to add to your family’s collection, hm?”

Good God, but Sypha is not like the girls Trevor had grown up with.

Alucard, the bastard, only watches in amusement as Trevor fends off Sypha’s wrathful jabs at his important bits. Doesn’t even try to save him in manly solidarity. Well, fuck Alucard. See if Trevor comes to save him from the inevitable doom of Sypha’s well-aimed ire.

So, bullied. They had bullied him into submission.

Well, so they assume; Trevor will show them exactly how he takes to goddamn bullying, which is to say, he doesn’t. Trevor Belmont does not submit... even if he _is_ slightly intimidated by Sypha’s threats to burn his balls off and turn them into something ‘helpful’. 

Arms stacked high with books, Trevor stomps over to the thick oak table they’ve been using to waste time. Because that’s what this is: a waste of time. Sypha and Alucard hadn’t been impressed by the ‘artifacts’ Trevor had dug out of the Belmont Hold, so they had ‘relegated’ him to joining the reading efforts— never mind that he couldn’t read any of the spells or magical languages that made up most of the library.

Trevor all but throws the books he’s gathered onto the table. A handful of dust puffs in the air around them which triggers a coughing fit. See? These books would be the death of him. They were killing him.

Alucard certainly wouldn’t put a stop to his book-related demise, given the irritated glare he’s shooting Trevor from where he is sitting across the table. He has an ancient-looking scroll unrolled over the wood, his long fingers holding his spot on the tiny script.

“Got something to say, vampire?” Trevor wheezes.

Alucard says nothing, simply narrows his eyes and goes back to reading. Well. If he was going to ignore Trevor, then Trevor was content to do the same. Sypha could try to make them get along all she wanted, but keeping them from killing each other was as close as she was going to get as long as Trevor had a say in it. There was no trusting a vampire. Dhampir. Whatever.

Trevor throws himself in a chair with the same sloppiness as the books. He props his boots up on the table, caked-on mud and all, and snatches a book from the top of his pile.

An hour later and Trevor is fighting a losing battle to not fall asleep. He’s gone through a number of books, all seemingly useless, or at least he thinks they’re useless since he can’t fucking read them. He cannot emphasize how much he cannot read magic text. Pictures only get him so far.

The book he has open now is a fat volume filled with detailed illustrations on what looks like dragons fucking. It is, probably, not going to help them fight Dracula.

Unless... unless he’s into that kind of thing.

Now that—that’s a thought. Does Dracula have kinks? Would Alucard know about that? Would he even tell Trevor or Sypha if he _did_ know?

Trevor, so preoccupied by this new expanse of possibilities, isn’t paying attention when he slices his finger open as he’s turning the page.

“Shit,” Trevor hisses as he shakes his hand. Fuck, but papercuts somehow always hurt as much as getting cut by something actually impressive like a sword. The parchment is thick, too, so much so that Trevor sees tiny drops of blood bead up on the pad of his index finger.

After he reflexively lifts his finger to his mouth, he turns to Alucard to ask him about Dracula’s kinks because he—he’s gotta know.

The question quickly flies out of his brain, alongside all of the other thoughts in his head.

Alucard looks frozen, except it’s less like he’s stuck and more like he’s holding back the coiled energy of an enormous person-shaped spring. His eyes are locked on Trevor, specifically Trevor’s mouth which uh, fucking Christ, that sure is something, but what’s more jarring is that they are not gold. They are not gold but red, bright and bloody red, and that sure is something _else_.

Trevor takes his finger out of his mouth with a sudden and loud pop.

Alucard reacts as if it’s the crack of a whip, jerking back with a stricken expression. In a blink the red is gone, instantly, as if the gold irises had never changed.

Ignoring how his heart is racing in his chest like a goddamn horse, Trevor leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “What’s that about?”

“Nothing,” Alucard says hastily, like a liar. He must know it, too, since he abruptly looks even more sourly uptight.

“Were you... what? With that little?”

“Of course not.”

Trevor squints at him. “Really?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Uh-huh.” Trevor doesn’t buy it. Dumb stupid vampires, always thirsting for some of the good Belmont vintage. It’s just, for all of the shit he gives Alucard about it, he doesn’t actually _believe_ Alucard would try to sink his teeth into him. Or that he would even want to. The half-vampire had gone to great lengths to describe exactly how much he does not want Trevor’s “repulsive and primarily alcohol-imbued” blood.

He’s going to revisit this new development once he can begin to wrap his head around it. In the meantime, Trevor circles back to his original train of thought, as he feels as though he is due some entertainment for his bookly-labors.

“Well that’s good and all, totally believe you by the way, but I was wondering...” Trevor pauses before tactful asking, “...is your dad into any freaky shit?”

“What?”

“Does he have any, you know... proclivities? Special tastes aside from the blood of virgins or whatever? Got any _fun_ dungeons in that labyrinth castle of his?”

Alucard looks dumbfounded. It’s a good look on him. “You’re seriously inquiring after my father’s sexual tendencies?”

“...yes?”

“Why would you—”

“Come on, he’s Vlad the _Impaler_. Always sticking shit up folk and whatnot. You have to have thought about it.”

Alucard seems to be debating whether he should take up his family’s calling and impale Trevor on a post himself. “I really can’t say that I have.”

“You sure? There’s a lot— I mean an absolute _shit ton_ of monsters in that castle. I wouldn’t be surprised if, well...”

“Don’t—”

“Does he fuck any of them? The monsters,” Trevor clarifies when Alucard doesn’t immediately answer. The half-vampire drops his head into his book as one would into their hands.

“ _Belmonts,_ ” Alucard groans into the pages. He mutters something else that Trevor can’t hear.

“What’s that?”

“I said, I’m leaving.” He delivers a contemptuous glare at Trevor as he stands, snapping the book shut as he goes. “I fear my intelligence may be decaying by the second.”

“Wait, wait come back!” Trevor shouts after him, “I still have more questions!”

Alucard flips him off as he turns the corner and disappears. Finally. With no one to watch him, he’s now free to take a nap. Trevor 1, Alucard 0.

* * *

“No no no, come on, we’re not done until you stick me.”

“Trevor,” Sypha says breathlessly, “I am still... not sure this is a good idea.”

“I never took you for a coward.” Trevor grins, cocky and sure. “You won’t hurt me. Promise.”

“It is just, I have never done _this_ before.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Sypha huffs, sweeps her sweaty hair out of her face, and comes at Trevor with renewed strength.

Still smiling, Trevor brings up his sturdy wooden sword as Sypha stabs at him. The edge of the blade gets stuck fast in the wood with a comical ‘thunk’.

“I said stick me, not my sword,” Trevor teases. He raises the sword-shaped plank of wood into the air, high above Sypha’s head. She twists her mouth into an attractive pout, which, he’s not an idiot, he would never admit to how attractive Sypha is when she’s frustrated.

They’re standing in the center of a messy circle that the two of them had cleared of books and artifacts. One would think the Belmont Family would have a sparring ring in their massive Hold but alas, the Hold had been designed by nerds. Trevor had suggested the exercise as a suitable break from research. Although Sypha had likely accepted only to humor him, she had quickly become engrossed in the challenge Trevor had presented her.

Perched high upon a bookcase, Alucard is messing with some sort of cursed abacus. He pauses his fiddling to prop his head on a poised hand. “Is all of this truly necessary, Belmont?”

Trevor shoots the vampire an exasperated look. “Yes. It is _truly necessary_ for Sypha to learn basic bladework.” He tries yanking the steel out of the wood and frowns when it doesn’t come easily. Eventually, he places the wooden sword under his boot and pulls the blade free with a strong upward tug.

Giving him a sheepish smile, Sypha accepts her practice dagger back, handle first.

“You have the strength, obviously, and the advantage of speed. But your technique is sloppy.” Trevor discards the wooden sword on the sidelines and rummages through the small pile of weapons he had brought to their makeshift practice ring. He had found Sypha a well-balanced, mid-sized dagger that suits her better than a dinky knife or enormous sword. As well as she’s had taken to it, she still seems uncomfortable using it against Trevor. It’s expected; she had very little practical experience with knives and steel weapons. Why bring a knife to a knife fight when you could bring a firestorm?

The had already worked on stance and basic techniques, like how to not stab yourself, but she had stagnated as the session progressed. Lots of stabbing and slashing with less and less coordination.

“You keep treating it like a weapon,” Trevor comments. He arms himself with a real sword, though the metal is dull and blunted. Perfect.

“Is it not?”

“Yes and no.” He returns to the circle and gestures lazily, sword in hand. “Is your magic a weapon?”

“Yes...” Sypha responds slowly, expression thoughtful.

“But?”

“But it is also not. Magic is many things, depending.”

“Exactly. Wait—here, watch.” Trevor drops his sword on the floor before approaching Sypha. He gestures and she holds out her arm. Guiding her elbow and wrist, he gently rolls the dagger in a semi-circle. “Treat it like your magic—like an extension of yourself. Fluid. Flexible. Not some rock you picked up on the street.”

“Careful now, Belmont,” Alucard’s smooth voice carries from his watchtower, “You’re beginning to sound like a man of intellect.”

“You can’t trust his word on fighting,” Trevor stage-whispers to Sypha, dramatically loud. He guides her arm through another slow but graceful movement. “Why, the vampire doesn’t have the common sense to use a sword that doesn’t scream ‘ _compensation’_.”

“I refuse to believe you know what that word even means.”

Trevor grins at the irritation in Alucard’s voice, then uses his hand to frame a portion of Sypha’s dagger.

“It means his prick is alarmingly small,” Trevor points out in the same stage-whisper.

Despite herself, Sypha giggles. “Trevor, that is unkind of you.” She widens his thumb and forefinger a fraction, grinning as well. “I am sure it is a more... modest size.”

“ _I beg your pardon_?”

Trevor ignores the vampire. “There’s nothing modest about thrusting about with a sword the length of an old bishop’s sermon. 

“Oh, and using an extensive whip is different, then?” Alucard scoffs.

“Yes,” both Sypha and Trevor say at once.

“Besides,” Trevor continues, “It’s more kinky than phallic.”

“A whip is nothing like a penis,” Sypha adds sagely. “Surely you would know that, Adrian.”

The vampire looks at the two of them with withering judgement but says nothing, turning back to his ominous abacus with singular focus.

“You get the point.” Trevor steps back from Sypha and returns to his metal hunk of a sword.

“I think so,” Sypha says with consideration, slowly turning her dagger in the air, “The knife is my penis, and you want me to poke you with it—” She pauses and gives Trevor a wide-eyed stare “—Yes?”

Alucard laughs into his hand, hard enough that Trevor is sure he will topple right off his stupid bookshelf. Sypha’s mouth twitches like she wants to smile but she manages to keep a straight face in spite of it. Sypha 1, Trevor 0.

Trevor rolls his eyes before leveling his sword at Sypha. “You can try.”

Blades at the ready, they examine each other for a moment in silence; there’s no more banter as Sypha grounds herself in the task ahead.

Trevor makes the first move, rushing forward while holding his sword up for an obvious downward cut. Sypha dodges at the last minute. She skims the edge of dagger up his blunt sword, displacing its downward sweep off to the side as she slips under its arc. Sparks fly off the metal. Trevor is thrown slightly off balance by the move but quickly spins in order to intercept an immediate backstab attempt.

They exchange a few more blows. Sypha uses her size and speed to her advantage, and her attacks are noticeably less ham-fisted. Trevor goes for clearer attacks that are easy to predict but difficult to avoid in their entirety. Still, he doesn’t need to hold back as much as he had been, prior. He’s almost impressed.

At some point, she succeeds in slipping past his defense. She’s too close for his sword to deflect anything, and so he dodges left. A Sypha passes her dagger from her dominant hand to the other, Trevor is, for the first time, delighted to have stumbled into a trap.

Her deception allows Sypha to get in a swipe at Trevor’s leg. He feels the sting as the sharp edge of the dagger bites into his thigh, shallow yet sure. Trevor takes the hit silently. Grimacing, he waves his hands in surrender as Sypha spins around for another go at him.

“I did it? I did it!” Sypha gasps first in surprise, then delight; the intense mood of the fight immediately discarded. She claps once and looks to Trevor for praise. The delight morphs into chagrin.

“Oh, oh no,” she mutters while eying the cut, “I did it.”

It’s impossible for Trevor not to laugh. “Sypha, this is nothing. This is good! You’re finally more capable with a dagger than me as an infant.” He bounces on his heels to prove the intact abilities of his legs.

“That is not funny.” But she looks less likely to start apologizing again. Muttering to herself, she takes a knee to get a closer look at the slice.

Trevor sighs. It really is nothing. A scrape. Nevertheless, he stands still while Sypha examines the cut and starts sort of... waving her hand around the area. Frowning slightly, she draws away the fabric of his trousers from the cut. Then she pushes on the skin around it. 

Trevor hisses through his teeth. “Does being gentle cost extra?” Shit, that stings. Both of them watch as blood dribbles out of the shallow wound. Not a substantial amount, as the injury is largely superficial, but it reminds Trevor of a certain someone in their midst. 

There is a splintering sound. Much like an abacus being snapped in two.

Trevor whips his head around and stares at Alucard. Alucard stares back. The vampire looks the definition of composed. Unruffled; bored, even.

Trevor doesn’t believe it for a second. 

“Did you break your _soroban_?” Sypha calls out, relieving Trevor of any remaining doubt. He wasn’t imagining things— she’d heard the noise as well. 

The vampire hesitates before responding. “Yes. It is unfortunately more fragile than we had accounted for. I... inadvertently used too much force to push one of the beads and the wood... split.”

Trevor squints. It looks like the damn thing is split in half— like it had been snapped between someone’s hands. Huh. How about that.

Alucard seems to notice the extra attention since he quickly moves to cover the evidence with his coat. “If you’ll excuse me.” He disappears, dropping off behind the bookshelf to go lurk and sulk where Trevor can’t judge him.

Sypha tilts her head. “What is bothering him, you think?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Trevor lies. His eyes are still glued to where the vampire had been sitting.

He has an idea.

* * *

It’s Alucard’s fault, really.

On the way to the Belmont estate, on the road, he had told Trevor about ‘experiments’ and how his parents had worked on them. Together, and often.

“You can just say fuck, you know.”

“You— it’s not—it’s _science_.” Alucard’s face was regal even when pinched in suffering.

“Science,” Trevor drawled mockingly, “Sounds like a posh way to say—”

“Sypha,” Alucard pleaded with a touch of desperation, “Please.”

Sypha rolled her eyes before pinning them on Trevor. “I know you know of the art of science.” She grinned at his evasive shrug. “Surely you know of experiments then, yes?”

Trevor kicked the dirt in front of him, mouth twisting to the side. “My book reading extends to the monster-related kind, and not much else. I’m too busy learning useful things, like how not to get turned into a hunk of rock by a cyclops.”

“Rude.”

“In any case,” Alucard interjected pointedly, “An experiment is a trial of science. You invent a particular question, which is called a theory, and you test it through specified means in order to prove the question as a truth or falsehood.”

“I don’t follow.”

“A theory could be...” Sypha pursed her lips in thought. “...It is like, ‘Trevor Belmont is terrible at kissing’. That is a theory.”

“And we would test the theory through an experiment, where we go around questioning your past conquests.” Alucard smiled with a hint of fang visible. “Depending on the response, the theory is proven correct or false.

“And if you had no past conquests, we would need to kiss you. For science.” Sypha looked far too pleased with herself.

So did Alucard. “Correct. Additionally, if you refused to participate, the experiment would be a failure. Much like you.”

“Here’s a theory,” Trevor grumbled, furious at the embarrassed heat flooding his face. “If you don’t shut up, I’m going to stick the vampire with the pointy end of my sword.”

“Exactly,” Sypha cooed, “Very good, Trevor.” She looked to Alucard and smiled. “See, the man can be taught.”

“Sypha I’m _right here_.”

* * *

Trevor has an idea. Specifically, he has a theory.

The theory is Alucard is a big liar.

The theory is that, despite how the dhampir insists otherwise, Alucard is just as keen on blood as _that_ side of his family tree. So. Someone has to figure it out. Someone has to test him. Might as well be Trevor. For science.

It’s deep into the afternoon. Sypha had fallen asleep on a pile of books like the world’s nerdiest bedroll. Alucard and Trevor had each been too afraid to move her, lest they wake her up from a much-needed nap, and so they covered her with their coats and left her to dream.

Now the two of them sit in silence on an upper level of the Hold—Trevor caring for his weapons while Alucard rummages through old texts. One would almost call the silence companionable. Trevor feels the need to ruin it, so he opens his mouth as says the first thing he can think of.

“Have you ever drunk from a person before?”

Alucard pauses with a book half-pulled from the shelf. It’s the only clue that he’s heard the question since he remains silent for a long stretch of time. When he does answer, he does it without looking at Trevor. “Half-human or not, I do require blood. You witnessed the contraption under Gresit.”

Trevor remembers the vials of blood, disturbingly large and disturbingly half-empty. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Why not?” Trevor remarks while testing the grit of his whetstone, “I’m bored, you’re here, we’re on a suicide mission together. Seems fair enough.”

“I—”

Trevor scrapes his sword along the whetstone and creates a raw, awful grating sound. He looks up from his sword with a lazy grin, as if he had no idea such a thing would happen. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“I was saying...” Alucard pinches the bridge of his nose while sounding rather cross. “I don’t see how it’s any of your concern.”

Ah. Trevor knows a defensive stance when he sees it. It’s the same as noticing an opponent’s weak point in the midst of battle— an opening for a hit. He takes a stab.

“So... you haven’t, then.”

“No. I have,” Alucard bites out quickly. Too quickly.

Trevor smirks. “Sure.”

“Now see here—”

 _Screech._ Trevor drags his sword over the whetstone again. He relishes the narrowed glare Alucard gives him in return for the interruption. No longer is the dhampir elbows-deep in a bookshelf, no; Trevor has his full attention.

“The way I see it—” _Screech_ “—Vampires don’t bloodsuck because they have to, I mean—” _Screech_ “—Otherwise you all would be downing bottles of the stuff, I mean—” _Screech_ “—You’d be packing dainty little glass bottles with labels like ‘virgin milkmaid’ or—” _Screech_.

“Would you please stop,” Alucard snaps.

“Stop what?” Trevor asks innocently, drawing his sword over his whetstone once again for good measure. The metal screams delightfully.

Alucard stalks towards him with a threatening aura that spells out exactly what he thinks of Trevor’s bullshit. He’s about three steps away from him, lips curled in promised violence, when Trevor pulls his blade over the stone with alarming speed.

It misses, though this is no surprise to Trevor. The sharpened edge nicks his hand and leaves a fine line of blood in its wake. A line that brings Alucard to a halt; a line that he will not cross.

What’s more, his gaze is stuck fast to Trevor’s hand. This time Trevor watches as the gold of his irises spills into red like the pouring of blood in a bowl. This time, Trevor is paying attention. There are other changes Trevor notices, too. Like the slight flash of incisors through the harsh line of his mouth; the tense cords of his neck; the tightly clenched fists. The very picture of a man holding back.

Well, not a man, exactly.

When Trevor speaks, his mouth is inexplicably dry. “Whoops.”

Alucard drags his bloody eyes from Trevor’s bloody hand to meet his gaze. He looks like he wants to take ahold of Trevor by the neck and shake him, though his characteristically smooth voice merely skirts on the edge of acidic. “A touch clumsy today, aren’t we, Belmont?”

“I thought you enjoyed watching me make an ass of myself.”

A muscle in Alucard’s jaw tics. “There’s nothing enjoyable about watching an ape like you flounce about.” 

“Liar,” accuses Trevor, as sure as a knocked arrow. He takes a step forward. Instead of backing away like Trevor expected, the dhampir remains utterly still. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.

His pulse picks up a wild beat as it would before a fight. Makes good sense, seeing as he’s set on provoking one. He’s wanted to shatter that cold facade ever since Gresit, ever since Alucard traded his untethered brutality for something more civilized. More respectable. It’s laughable, throwing a sheet over a lion and asking Trevor to treat it like a lamb. 

“You enjoy it,” Trevor continues, a devious smile pulling his mouth upward, “Watching me. Admit it.”

Another step. At this closeness, he can see the slow widening of Alucard’s dark, dark eyes. All pupil. The black has swallowed the red just as the red had swallowed the gold before it. Trevor gets the sense that he’s watching something of a singularity, observing a near total eclipse. He’s given no choice but to marvel at the thin scarlet rings left to form the rim of twin moons.

Trevor’s smile tips out of balance.

“And if I do?” Alucard’s voice is quiet, something close to fear in his face. “If I enjoy it, what then?” 

Trevor’s traitorous mind does a backflip and breaks apart into a useless heap. 

“Uh.” Fuck. “You—huh.” Trevor feels funny. Feels like he might throw up. He feels like his hand might be going numb. He feels like he might have done something more idiotic than usual.

There’s only one step between them—a step that is quickly disappearing as Trevor’s feet move of their own accord, his brain unable to keep up with the shock.

There’s a stacked blur and accompanying sound as Alucard warps away. And away again. It’s the fastest retreat Trevor’s ever seen. 

“What the fuck,” Trevor says faintly, stunned.

He’s not sure anyone’s won any points this round.

He’s not sure what’s happened at all. 

* * *

His mind replays the moment over and over, a spoked wheel of memory that takes him nowhere. The long stares, the scarlet eyes, the naked hunger shining in them. The guilt.

It’s the guilt he can’t get a grip on. Alucard has been firmly unremorseful about his parentage and vampiric status; there have been no apologies for his unnatural nature. So far, the general attitude has been _‘So what, I’m a vampire, I eat people, get over it’_. And what did Alucard admit to enjoying, exactly? Watching Trevor?

 _‘No’_ , a part of him offers unhelpfully, _‘It’s something Else. Something worse’._

* * *

Trevor isn’t stupid, but he enjoys doing stupid things. And he is nothing if not persistent.

Now that he’s started the mission, he can’t stop, he’ll see this through, even if Alucard is hell-bent on avoiding him. Idiot. He could try to avoid Trevor all he liked, but there was no avoiding Sypha and her team-bonding schemes. She starts complaining merely two hours into Alucard’s Trevor-themed disappearance act.

“How are we to succeed in this thing if we are strangers to one another?”

“I fight with strangers all the time,” Trevor retorts gruffly.

Sypha and Alucard share a knowing look. How is it that they’re already sharing knowing looks?

“We need to stick together, to learn from each other,” Sypha says, expression serious. Trevor tries to share a knowing look with Alucard but the vampire won’t even pretend to indulge him.

To no one’s surprise, Sypha gets her way. They all spar together. All, being Sypha against either of the two of them. Alucard refuses to go against Trevor because he knows that Trevor is up to no good, the coward. They also all research the Belmont texts together. All, being Sypha and Alucard. Trevor would rather be roasted alive than so much as look at another book in his life. Instead, he scuffs around the place in search of cool shit like giant maces and spooky jars of slime.

Throughout the day there are many attempts to rile up Alucard, most of which are utter failures. One includes him nicking himself while shaving. At first Trevor thinks it is a success due to the surprise on the vampire’s face.

“You _shave_?”

“Yeah.” Trevor rubs his neck. “What of it?”

“You.... then what of the rest...” Alucard gestures at his own immaculately smooth jawline.

The stubble is part of his ruggedly handsome charm. Trevor would never admit such a thing aloud but he does say, “Oh, mustaches look rubbish, is all.”

Before Alucard can defend his father’s facial hair, Sypha walks in.

She makes an expression of shock identical to the one Alucard wore. “You shave?”

“Yes yes, I shave,” Trevor bickers and then waves a hand around his exasperated face. “This good-looking mug takes some amount of upkeep; we can’t all be baby-faced like Mr. Vampire here.”

“Baby-faced?” Alucard scoffs at the same time that Sypha shouts, “You will not bathe yourself, but you _shave_?”

“When you find a bath that requires only a sharp blade and a steady hand, let me know.”

Trevor escapes before either of the fiends can wrestle him into a bath, which they clearly want to do going by the threats. Jesus. It’s only a matter of time before one of them dumps a bucket of soapy water on him when he’s asleep and vulnerable.

Much later, once he thinks enough time has passed for the mood to clear, he returns to find the two of them ogling Alucard’s sword.

Well, Sypha is ogling. Alucard is less ogling and more preening, pale face haughty with pride. Something about the circumstances feels... intimate, what with them both hunched over the weapon as Alucard points at little details with a private smile. It causes Trevor to pause between the tall shelves to watch. 

“It is just so—so intricate,” Sypha says with wonder. She’s holding the sword in her hands and traces her fingers over raised designs on the hilt. “Do all vampires carry such sophisticated swords?”

“Not at all. Most would not trouble themselves with a weapon of any kind.” The unsaid bit hangs in the air: creatures of the night have weapons built-in, teeth and claws and brute strength. Sypha nods in understanding without a drop of distress.

“So why do you?”

“It is an advantage.” He clearly wishes to say more but holds the words back. Luckily, Sypha has patience when it matters most and merely waits for Alucard to continue.

“It was a gift,” Alucard adds.

“From who?”

“I’m not sure.” His voice is thick with long-held sentiment. “It was given to my father, long before my existence. He had said, once, that it was from an old and dear friend.” Alucard looks down at the sword with an unreadable expression. “It always struck me as odd.”

Sypha is no longer staring at the sword. “Odd?”

“My father didn’t— doesn’t— have friends. He has comrades, alliances. Brethren. Not friends.”

“I am sorry,” Sypha says softly. Alucard simply nods.

“There used to be a name inscribed on the blade, close to the hilt, though it is now worn into anonymity... by either accident or design.”

“Perhaps I can do something about that,” Sypha offers with a manic glint in her eyes. She’s sporting the same look she gets before attempting a new spell. However, Sypha never gets to magic the sword, as she promptly fumbles it and cuts the hand that had been holding it moments before. The gold in Alucard’s eyes slips away, replaced by a color that matches the blood spilling over the Speaker’s hand.

The world slows to a stop.

It occurs to Trevor that he will now have a front seat to watch Alucard break his blood fast by rending Sypha in two. He’s going to snap her neck like that stupid abacus, he’s going to rip her throat out, he’s going to do something monstrous, he’s going to—

—To do nothing.

Trevor watches in horror as absolutely nothing happens.

“Here, allow me,” Alucard says smoothly as he garnishes a pristine handkerchief seemingly from nowhere. The thing has his initials, AFT, scripted in the corner. A goddamn _handkerchief_. A moment later and he has Sypha’s hand wrapped in the fabric.

“Oh dear, oh— you—” Sypha sputters, her cheeks coloring further with each passing second of Alucard holding her hand. Alucard’s golden gaze is full of concern. The concern is entirely misplaced since Sypha is more in danger of self-combusting than getting eaten for lunch. 

They are having a moment. It’s a super weird fucking moment. It’s a moment that Trevor wants no part of, frankly, so he slinks off to pretend to read an old decaying book on toads.

He blankly stares at the ink, begging it to help him make sense of what just happened. What hadn’t happened.

Alucard’s eyes _had_ done the—the thing. The vampire red-glare thing. It just hadn’t looked the same, exactly. More important is how _nothing had happened_! No running away, no “now’s the time to practice my impersonation of a living statue” nonsense. There was no embarrassment over the reaction—hell, there was hardly a reaction at all. Shit, Trevor had never gotten a fucking handkerchief. Was he not good enough for a scrap of gentleman fabric? 

What is he meant to do with this information? He could discuss it with Sypha, but she would probably tell him off for ‘needlessly’ nettling their companion. Asking Alucard about it would be about as enlightening as pestering a slab of marble for answers.

“Once again, it’s all up to me, Trevor Belmont,” Trevor declares to a badly drawn diagram of a toad.

* * *

So, Trevor keeps trying.

Trevor can tell he’s getting on Alucard’s nerves, but that’s not what he’s going for anymore. Trevor isn’t sure what he _is_ going for either. He’s just... going.

The next twenty-four hours is a period of trials specifically tailored to drive Alucard insane. In his sparring lessons with Sypha Trevor is increasingly careless, getting slices and nicks that could have been avoided with no trouble. Trevor is not to be trusted with swords, or knives, or anything with an edge.

This is the thing; everything has an edge. Swords, books, people. It is so very easy to let things slip, let his hands pick up the wrong side of anything, anything at all. Trevor becomes capable of getting a papercut within seconds of spotting Alucard approaching his orbit. He becomes a walking hazard.

“I can help,” Trevor suggests to Sypha as she prepares dinner for the group. His offer clearly catches Sypha off-guard, but she accepts his help with a cheery smile.

“Care to join us?” Sypha glances at Alucard when he checks in on them. The vampire takes one look at Trevor with his knife buried in a tomato and pales. Alucard, who prides himself in acting as a gentleman, who normally is the first to offer his help to Sypha in menial tasks, turns tail without so much as a blink.

Sypha’s expression clouds over. “What is wrong with him lately?”

Trevor shrugs, a knife dangling precariously close to his fingers. “Beats me.”

* * *

There is a problem:

A man has many qualities; not all of them in agreement. Trevor is persistent, yes, but patient? That is a word for people who believe they have time.

Impatience makes Trevor itch; seek out a scratch. It makes Trevor seek out the vampire with the brilliantly vague strategy of pissing him off.

“Fight me.”

“No.” Alucard refuses to budge from his table, holding tight to the image of being absorbed in his book. It looks dull. It looks unbelievably boring. 

“Come on, all this reading will rot your brain,” Trevor says impishly. He casts a glance around the table and eyes the pile of books, the stacks of parchment, the scabbard of Alucard’s endless sword. “Pick up your sword and spar with me.”

Perhaps the vampire notices Trevor’s empty hands. No fresh cuts. No knives in sight. Alucard blinks his half-lidded eyes with disinterest. “No.”

“What are you afraid of?” This challenge is only weak due to Alucard’s complete lack of fear. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

A blonde eyebrow twitches upward, almost imperceptibly. But nevertheless, Alucard returns to reading his book. It’s a shame; Trevor is good at getting folks riled up by saying nothing but absolute dogshit. Just another way Alucard chooses to poke pinholes in Trevor’s ego. Fortunately, Trevor is also good at improvising.

He picks Alucard’s sword up off the table.

“Put it down.” Alucard doesn’t look up from the book. His stone-cut jaw clenches tellingly, as tight as a fist.

“Make me.” Trevor slips the scabbard off, discards the hard leather onto the ground as if it were garbage.

A blur moves. There comes a sound, like shuffling cards with more than two decks. The vampire stands in front of him, expression cold, long fingers wrapped around the hand Trevor is using to hold the sword upright. The silver edge of it stretches up and up and up to form a thin line between them. Two edges, a man for each.

When Trevor doesn’t let go, Alucard frowns. He tugs the sword but Trevor holds fast. “This is not a battle you should fight, Belmont.”

“And why is that?” Trevor pulls at the sword with the same result.

“Because it is one you cannot win,” Alucard hisses and pulls. Hard.

Trevor chooses that moment to stop resisting. Without Trevor’s counterweight, the force of the tug is far more than Alucard had accounted for, far stronger than it needed to be. When Alucard pulls his sword back to him, it comes with Trevor attached.

He slams into Alucard on the matched strength of the other’s momentum. They are close, like this. Close in all the ways the vampire has managed to avoid— until now.

Now, Trevor stares at Alucard with all of the defiance of someone with very, very little to lose. He’s near enough to see the precise moment Alucard realizes his misstep. There is a subtle widening of the eyes—white as a waving flag in a muddy field. For all that Alucard is quick, he is not quick enough. Trevor slides his hand up against the imminent threat of the sword between them. The pain is insignificant. What matters is the trap, the catch, the snagging of the wire hooking its target.

“What are you playing at, Belmont?” The vampire’s eyes are unavoidably close and undeniably red. If Trevor were to look, really look, he’d be able to see his own reflection. A moment later and those eyes narrowed into angry scarlet slits. “This game of yours is _not amusing_.”

It’s possibly the angriest Trevor has seen him yet. He certainly sounds angry, what with the incisors mangling Alucard’s normally smooth voice into something unrefined. Something with bite.

“I’m not playing games, accidents happen,” Trevor mollifies quickly. The thing about improvising is that he doesn’t bother planning for the aftermath. It’s just... more improvising. Dread begins to steal up his spine when he tries to step back and finds that he can’t; Alucard’s hand is still tight around his and only growing tighter. Goddamn classic Belmont move, getting caught in his own trap. 

“It’s _distracting_ ,” is said with the same drawn-out wretchedness as ‘ _distressing’_. Alucard has moved headlong into growling territory. Shit, he is really, really fucking livid.

Trevor tries to raise his arms placatingly and only manages one. “Alright, fine. You got me. I wanted to annoy you, okay? Ruffle your stupid composure. Uh, you know, bother you—"

“Consider me bothered.” Then Alucard goes on to say something completely unexpected. “It seems utterly foolish to me, your teasing. Is this how you seduce the persons you fancy?” 

What the—no, what? “What?”

“Is this what is expected with human nobility?” Alucard elaborates, sounding strangled, “Flirting by repeatedly throwing yourself on the end of a sword? The customs of aristocratic courtship among humans is an area that I— I don’t— it is a practice with which I am less acquainted.”

The bottom of Trevor’s stomach drops out. “No, God no. It’s— why would you— it’s an experiment!”

Alucard blinks once. “An experiment.”

“I had a theory, see, that you wanted me—my blood! But you always scowl and lie about it—so I, you know... I figured I would... tempt you.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Sounds dreadfully similar to—”

“It’s _science_!” Trevor is bordering the edge of hysterics. “I’m not a fucking idiot, I know all about ‘experiments’ and ‘theories’.”

“Really, now?” the vampire in question seethes, “And how is this _experiment_ playing out for you, pray tell? Have you gained anything of value? Have you found the answer you’ve sought _? Has it been fun, toying with me_?”

“Yes! Wait, no. Fuck, I thought— I don’t know.” He feels like an absolute heel. “I thought you were, uh, thirsty.”

Alucard grimaces and glances down at the two hands locked around his blade. There’s blood seeping out through both of their fingers like a spilled goblet of wine. Trevor feels the dull ache of the cut, the warmth, the wet. It slips and drips down the edge of the polished metal. Trevor doesn’t need to be looking at Alucard to hear his sharp inhale— but he is looking. He wears an expression of growing alarm that surely matches the one on his own face.

This time, when Trevor tries to pull away, Alucard allows it.

Trevor watches as the vampire stares at his hand, his fingers, all messily covered in blood. It can’t be helped; the bloody gaze is tied to its maker by a taught string.

The moment stretches on— Trevor staring at Alucard staring at Trevor’s hand.

The silence is broken when a fat drop of blood splashes on the floor. The small sound is enough; Alucard tears his gaze away to stare off into the distance, away from Trevor. It doesn’t escape him that Alucard deliberately won’t look at his sword, either. 

This is the problem:

For all of his slashing and slicing, Trevor hasn’t made so much as a nick. He’s been chipping away, trying to carve out the figure he sees in the hard amber of Alucard’s stares— trying to whittle away the rock into a shape he can understand. He has been lost to it. Alucard is the immovable object, the stone quartz, the whetstone. Since their meeting Trevor has been pulling himself across the grit of him, over and over and over again. He shouldn’t be surprised that it has sharpened something in himself— fashioned a formerly dull edge into something treacherous.

“I—you can have some.” The words leak out of Trevor. It’s like the rupture of an artery—a final bit of pressure, then all pours out at once. “Some blood. My blood, I mean, if you would like. I suppose it’d be fine. What’s some blood between comrades?”

Alucard is gawking at Trevor with an odd look in his eyes. It takes a second or two for the look to register as one he understands. The tamed hunger, the wild guilt. 

_‘No’_ , a part of him offers helpfully, _‘It’s something Else. Something worse’._ Something Trevor knows, remembers. Something formally dulled, now sharp. 

“It’s just blood,” Trevor says weakly.

Alucard searches Trevor’s face. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find it— because he takes a measured step towards him. “Are you sure?”

It’s not a question being asked, but permission.

“Yeah.” His heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of his ribcage which, really, cannot be good for the blood loss.

Alucard goes to his knees.

“Whoa—you—” Trevor shuts his mouth upon seeing the raised eyebrow Alucard gives him.

“Gravity,” Alucard reminds him, viewing Trevor as a moron even from below him.

“Gravity. Right. Pulls shit down—right.” Every word out of his mouth causes the vampire to look increasingly smug. Trevor does the mature thing and shoves his hand in Alucard’s face. “Whatever.”

The sword gets placed on the ground. Soon after there is a firm hand at his wrist, holding him steady. Trevor’s pulse jumps under the cool thumb pressed against it. Fuck. He feels indecent simply being witness to how Alucard gazes at his hand with something close to raw adoration, like he’s the priest and Trevor’s the alter. There are some other kneeling metaphors, too. They manage to be even more indecent. Trevor shuts his eyes but the images are already taking root in his appalling, traitorous mind.

Then Alucard seals his mouth around the cut.

It’s not what he is expecting. There are no teeth sinking into his skin. No pain. It’s a searing open-mouthed kiss to the palm of his hand. It’s a kind of worship he hadn’t been prepared for; how could he be? His hand throbs. His heart is pounding. He’s suddenly so dizzy he wishes he’d thought to sit down, maybe just sit down, before telling a vampire to suck him off.

—Suck him _dry_. He is—this is bad. This is very bad. He is so, so fucked.

Alucard makes a greedy noise in the back of his throat and it travels down Trevor’s spine, catching fast on each boney notch. He has to hold the crown of Alucard’s head to keep from bowing over. Then, just when Trevor thinks it can’t possibly be any more embarrassing, he feels the rough drag of a tongue over the sensitive skin of his palm.

The sound that comes out of him is mortifying. Worse still, Alucard doesn’t stop. The licking, it’s—well it’s—it’s not modest. It’s downright wicked. His hand tingles pleasantly, though it isn’t until the throbbing stops that Trevor realizes the cut has sealed off. Huh. Trevor wants to ask but he’s afraid of opening his mouth. Not to be trusted, that mouth. He assumes that will be the end of it. No, of course not. That would be too easy.

Alucard turns his attention to Trevor’s fingers.

Heat coils in his gut and Trevor considers the pros and cons of pretending to faint. On the one hand, Alucard might stop. On the other hand, Alucard might stop. A true conundrum.

The way Alucard hungrily sucks at each individual finger is beyond filthy. Trevor tries not to think about the curl of Alucard’s tongue or the heat of his mouth or the pull against the pad of his thumb—

Alucard makes the strange noise again and Trevor makes the mistake of looking at him.

The immaculate curtain of golden hair is drawn to the side by Trevor’s grip, giving him an exposed view of exactly what Alucard looks like on his knees with his mouth wrapped around a part of Trevor. There is nothing to block the sight of his curved lips, the high cheekbones, the taught column of his neck when he swallows. There is nothing to block the cut of his bright red eyes through thick lashes as he stares up at Trevor.

Trevor must have not lost enough blood because there’s enough of it left to rush downwards. Right in front of Alucard's face. 

He’s going to die like this. He’s going to die with the mouth of a vampire clamped around him and it’s nothing like how he thought it would go. He thought he’d die with dignity.

Alucard takes his mouth off of Trevor’s index finger with a sudden and loud pop.

The blood, Trevor’s blood, is altogether gone. No, not quite— there’s still a touch of red smeared on the edge of Alucard’s lips. Trevor can’t stop staring at it, the bit of him left over. He wants to wipe it off with anything; his hands, his mouth. Instead, Alucard chases the crimson stain with his tongue without breaking eye-contact. Trevor’s going to be seeing those bloody eyes at the back of his eyelids for weeks, God fucking damn it. Trevor swallows and it’s noticeably loud in the void of words between them, which is not great or at all subtle. Nothing about this is subtle. He's frozen to the spot by the fever in his veins and the sweat at the small of his back and the hand— the hand of his that he still has tangled up in a bundle of silky, golden locks. It would be easy, so very easy, to keep hold of that blonde crown of hair and shove it forward. He wonders if he has it in him to do it. He wonders if Alucard would let him. 

It’s a matter of pride that has Trevor removing his hand from the tangled mess he’s made of Alucard’s hair. It’s an additional matter of pride that prevents him from trying to bolt when Alucard keeps his iron grip around his other wrist, holding his no-longer-bloody hand captive.

“Can I have my hand back?” His voice scrapes out like it’s been dragged by a horse. Without steadying himself on Alucard’s mass he is unbalanced, and he desperately wants to fuck off to some dark corner to take care of his growing... problem. Solving that problem requires the use of his hand.

Clearly Alucard has a different idea. Not only does he _not_ release his hand but he also gets to his feet, using his full height to crowd Trevor against the nearest bookshelf. Trevor doesn't remember him being so tall. Then he notices that the dhampir's not on his feet, but suspended above the floor. Fucking fantastic. 

“You’re welcome,” Trevor tries. He can feel the weight of the books, their spines against his.

The scarlet has drained out of Alucard’s eyes, leaving them tawny and clear as he stares straight through Trevor. “I don’t enjoy being in the debt of others.”

“It’s on the house.” Trevor wants to look away, but he wants, absolutely _needs_ Alucard to keep looking at his face. Don’t look elsewhere, don’t look at the state his body has been whetted into, don’t look, _don’t look_ —

A muscled leg presses between his thighs and he groans. “What—"

“A favor,” Alucard says simply, like it could be simple. There are a thousand arguments on the tip of Trevor’s tongue. But, alas; an elegant hand follows the limb beneath it and Trevor follows shortly after. Turns out it is, in fact, simple.

Trevor makes sure to knock down slews of books from their shelves, as many as he can reach, and Alucard doesn’t even bitch about it.

Trevor 4, Alucard 1. But who’s counting, anyway.

* * *

“I’ve got a question.”

Alucard delivers Trevor the resigned look of someone who is unfortunately familiar with Trevor and his questions. They’re gathered around the Hold’s central podium; Sypha standing at the platform with an open spell book, Alucard sorting through a stack of parchment covered in symbols, Trevor sitting with a book of nonsense in his hands.

“Hmm?” Sypha prompts because she is neither a coward nor paying attention.

“It’s a theory, actually.” Alucard starts shaking his head but Trevor barrels onwards. “If I were to, say, _accidentally_ drop a sharp object, like a knife or a sword—”

“Belmont—”

“—and suffer an injury to my lower, very manly regions—”

“Don’t—"

“My _prick_ ,” Trevor annunciates, “Would you want to suck it?”

“Trevor!” Sypha admonishes. Alucard says nothing at first. Instead, he slowly turns his head to face Trevor head-on.

He unleashes a terrifying smile that is void of warmth and entirely made of teeth. “A fascinating concept,” Alucard clips through his sharp, pointy mouth, “Care to test it?”

Suddenly, getting a good eyeful of fang, Trevor has a change of heart— he’s less than keen on having that anywhere near his bits. “Uh.”

“I have somewhere to be,” Alucard announces even though they all know there is nowhere else to be, and swiftly disappears. Trevor gapes at the space that used to have a vampire-shaped person up until Sypha smacks him in the back of the head with a book.

“Jesus Christ, Sypha!”

“You ask such useless, needless questions,” Sypha scolds with the book still raised threateningly.

“My fucking head, Sypha—”

“He would do it, of course,” Sypha interrupts.

“What?”

“You know.” She waves her hands around Trevor’s general dick-area like it equates to sucking a man off. “He would. I know things.”

“You _know things?"_ Trevor repeats, bewildered.

“Yes, Trevor, it is called having eyes. It would be good of you to stop teasing him.” 

“What are you, his fucking _mother_?”

“His mother is dead, Trevor,” Sypha says reproachfully as she jabs him with a finger. “Unbelievable. Why must you be such a rude man?”

Trevor shrugs, helpless. Sypha’s right on both counts: he is rude and he is a man. Somewhat appeased, she straightens her posture and bestows him with the sage advice of, “Ask him nicely.”

“ _You_ ask him nicely,” Trevor mocks unthinkingly.

Sypha puts a hand to her chin, blue eyes dancing playfully. “Alright."

"That's not what I—"

"If you insist.”

“No, wait,” starts Trevor but she’s already skipping away, weaving through the maze of shelves and artifacts. “Sypha, please...” He watches her leave, knowing a losing battle when he sees one. 

"She's right, you know," Alucard says suddenly from directly behind him, hovering over Trevor with his feet off the ground like the giant fucking creep that he is.

Trevor is many things— he is very brave and very manly and very heroic, and he is none of those things when he screams. 

**Author's Note:**

> When I was looking up synonyms for 'dick', one of the lists included 'Vlad The Impaler'... the parallels... the poetic cinema...


End file.
